


Kadiith

by Eligh



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Supernatural
Genre: Daemons, M/M, Souls, i love destiel anyway, wtf i don't even write supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels don't have souls. This is a well-known fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kadiith

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologize for playing in a fandom that isn't my main one? But I have had this plot bunny for months: Cas suddenly growing this wildly inappropriate daemon, and Dean's all 'Dude we have to go out in public and you have a friggin _dinosaur_ on your shoulder, what the hell' and Sam would be all 'so _that's ___an example of their coloration, fascinating' and Castiel would be generally confused by all these _feelings_ and so I wrote this. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Time is nebulous for this story. Cas is an angel, that's all. I'm half a season behind 'cause I heard what happened to Charlie and don't wanna watch it._
> 
>  
> 
> _Finally, if you don't know--and still clicked on this--according to the Dark Materials books, daemons are the physical manifestations of a person's soul._

Angels do not have souls.

This fact is neither a good thing nor a bad one; it simply is. _Kadiith_ , Dean told Castiel once. What is, is. An angel—a proper Angel Of The Lord, as Castiel used to be—has no need for a soul, as they are beings of celestial intent who only occasionally inhabit corporeal forms. They exist to serve humankind, to serve the ones their father gifted with free will, with the right to choose. An angel is not a human, and therefore the very concept of a ‘soul’ is moot.

This is why, when Castiel opens his eyes on what is supposed to be simply another unremarkable Monday in the month of July—albeit a morning following what he will freely admit was a rather spectacular conclusion to years of unrealized tensions—he is extremely surprised to be met face-to-face with a glowing essence of existence. It pulses faintly, happy to make his acquaintance.

Castiel frowns.

The soul hovering tentatively at the foot of the bed he’d been pushed down into last night is shapeless, an indistinct cloud of Dust. It’s not unlike the souls he’s seen of the yet-unborn. Or—that’s not quite right. It is older than those souls, that much is clear. In fact, the more he looks, the more he realizes that it is _very much_ like how Dean’s soul once looked, when Castiel gripped him tight and lifted him from Hell.

It undulates vaguely, curling in and over and under and into itself, unsure.

Castiel, equally unsure, reaches out. The fledgling soul swoops closer to him gratefully, the motes of its Dust sliding like electric sand through his fingers. It is warm to his touch, and so lovely and beautiful and perfect that Castiel is almost certain that he is about to cry.

Next to him in the bed, his skin sun-kissed and freckled and bruised, Dean shifts. “Cas,” he grumbles, and then stills, his shoulders bunching with tension that Castiel was almost certain he’d eradicated last night. He may not be well-versed in the acts of physical love, but he’s certain that the motions he went through very thoroughly the night before were the correct ones. Dean had assured him of his prowess with a great deal of vocal alacrity.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dead repeats, turning his head on the pillow, his green eyes wide. “Oh holy fuck I fucked an angel.”

“Not for the first time,” Castiel observes, his fingers still extended. The specks of the—of _his_?—Dust rub happily up his palm and back down. “Anna—”

Dean blinks. “You shut your mouth.” And then he rolls over onto his back and lifts one hand, which he deposits firmly and directly on the bare skin over where Castiel’s heart should beat. “Oh come on,” Dean says, when he encounters no steady flutter of muscle. Angels’ hearts do not need to beat, after all. “That’s just creepy.” Castiel obediently wills the organ into motion, and the corner of Dean’s mouth kicks up. “Better,” he says.

Castiel stares at him. His outstretched hand is still encircled by the faintly glowing Dust, and though its form is still largely shapeless, it appears to be solidifying. Additionally, he is almost positive that Dean cannot see it.

“What’s that?” another voice asks, and Castiel looks over the edge of the bed, meeting the large, curious eyes of Dean’s dæmon. She blinks slowly at him, her black ears alert at the top of her slender face. “Near your hand,” she clarifies. On his chest, Dean’s fingers spread and press down.

“I don’t know,” Castiel tells her honestly. “I think it may be a soul.”

“A—” Dean sits up. “What?”

“It doesn’t really make sense,” Castiel tells them. He flexes his hand; the Dust motes swirl. “Angels cannot possess souls.”

Dean leans forward, laying a hand on Castiel’s outstretched forearm. The other he keeps as a firm anchor to Castiel’s chest. “Okay, what are you two talking about?”

There is a moment of seized potential.

The things that happen next occur in such close succession that they are effectively simultaneous.

The swirling essence at Castiel’s fingertips coalesce with a spark of created energy into the form of a medium-sized avian. It is a primeval example of such, with wings designed for gliding rather than flying, and it possesses grasping claws at the alula joint. Its muzzle is boney instead of beaky, and is lined with rows of sharp teeth. Its legs are strongly muscled for running, and end in razorsharp claws. Its feathers are downy and lush, and are speckled in bands of black and white.

Dean shouts in surprise at the sudden manifestation, his fingers tightening on every point of contact they make with Castiel’s skin. In a rare form of synchronicity, Dean’s dæmon barks in identical shock; seeking reassurance, she jumps in one smooth movement up to the bed. In her carelessness, her fluffy red tail brushes in a jolting slide down Castiel’s side that causes both Dean and Castiel to suck in sharp breaths.

(It is not a foreign touch; he lifted her alongside Dean from Hell and cradled her in his arms as recently as last night. It is still affecting.)

“Hello,” the new dæmon says. “Rejoice, for we are an Angel of the Lord.”

Castiel cocks his head.

There is a beat of silence, and then for lack of anything else to do, he once again holds out his hand. The dæmon inspects the offered appendage and then raises one clawed foot; when it steps into his grip it is gentle, belying the ease with which it could tear into his vessel’s soft skin.

“What the fucking fuck,” Dean mutters. His hands are still warm on Castiel’s skin. They are comforting weights. “Cas, do you have a dæmon?” He pauses. “Also I think it’s a dinosaur.”

“I was fond of this species,” Castiel says mildly. He lifts his hand to better inspect the— _his_ —dæmon. “I wore this form a very long time ago.” He ignores Dean’s sputtered protestations and smiles at the dæmon. “You are an archaeopteryx,” he observes. “Hello.”

“Hello,” it says again. “I am happy to be here.”

“How, though, are you here?” Castiel asks it. He instinctively knows that it _is_ an it, not a he or she. After all, celestial intent cannot be gendered. He wears a male form simply out of constraints inherent within the species. “Angels do not have dæmons.”

“Your love and devotion has made me manifest, Castiel,” it says. “When you made your choices with free will, when you knew the intimacies of the human body, when you took Dean’s seed into your—”

“Oh my fuck, please stop,” Dean interrupts. “My _seed_ , Jesus, don’t ever say that again.” He leans his head onto Castiel’s shoulder; his short hair prickles against Castiel’s collarbone in a pleasing itch. “I knew all this sexual tension was gonna lead us somewhere weird.” His lips brush over bare skin and linger. “I _knew_ it.”

Castiel slowly lowers his arm. On the bed, Dean’s dæmon creeps forward, low, her neck extended. Castiel’s dæmon meets her halfway; they size one another up for bare moments before they are twining together, exchanging softly affectionate nips.

“How the hell’re we gonna hide that thing,” Dean says, his lips still pressing into Castiel’s shoulder. “A fucking dinosaur, Cas, what the shit, of course your dæmon’s an ancient monster-chicken.”

“I—” Castiel feels off-kilter. He’s confused; is Dean angry with him? He can’t help that he seems to have spontaneously grown a—a—

He turns to face Dean, his eyes wide. “Dean,” he says, urgent. The implications are just now sinking in. “Dean, I have a soul.”

Dean smiles at him, slow and sleepy and seductive. “Yeah,” he says. “Because’a my _seed_.”

Castiel frowns. “ _Dean…_ ”

Dean ducks his head. “Alright, alright. No teasing.” He reaches up and frames Castiel’s face with his hands. “It’s ‘cause you love me, idiot.” And then he leans forward, catching Castiel’s breath with his lips. They press together, Dean’s head tilting slightly to fix the angle. Castiel grips reflexively at his brand on Dean’s shoulder and holds on tight. His body, still new and confusing despite his years spent on this earth, both reminds him of the physical stressors he inflicted upon it last night, and begins to take renewed interest.

“And because _I_ love _you_ ,” Dean says when they finally part.

There is a moment, just the span of a heartbeat or two, where they simply look at one another. Dean’s face is open and unguarded; Castiel has learned that he rarely lets this expression out into the world. It is far too revealing for Dean’s taste.

But he shows it now, when they are here, in this bed, alone together.

Castiel swallows.

Angels do not have souls. But Castiel, loving and being loved in return, is far more than a simple angel.

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel's [archaeopteryx](http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/notrocketscience/files/2010/05/Archaeopteryx.jpg). 
> 
> Dean's [red fox](http://livingwithfoxes.weebly.com/uploads/2/1/4/6/21469346/1372448634.jpg). 
> 
> And though I don't mention it, Sam's [jackrabbit](https://izzyanimalworld.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/rabbie-bunnyxxx2.jpg). Those rabbits will fuck you up. Also I think the rabbit/fox contrast between the brothers is nice.
> 
>  
> 
> Side note: I've got a tumblr, finally. Find me [here](http://eli-rawley.tumblr.com/).


End file.
